


Good Fortune, Witch Hunters

by TheTyger



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Gen, I'm so sorry, Monty Python, witch hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTyger/pseuds/TheTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got YELLOW SSSSNAKE EYESSSS and you're gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitroussss oxide-"</p><p>"-I am not-"</p><p>"-and we're living in the middle of a massive WITCH HUNT!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Fortune, Witch Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Wicked.

"Remind me again why we live _here_ of all places, angel."

Aziraphale sighed. "What is it _now_ , Crowley..."

"Oh I don't know, maybe it's that I've got _YELLOW SSSSNAKE EYESSSS_ and you're gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitroussss oxide-"

"-I am _not_ -"

"-and we're living in the middle of a massive _WITCH HUNT_!"

The angel sighed again (he seemed to be doing that quite a lot lately), "Honestly, my dear..."

Suddenly, a young boy barreled past, almost knocking Crowley into Aziraphale and causing the hood on the dark cloak the demon wore to slip off.

"Sorry, Sir-" The boy turned around, took one look at Crowley, and quickly backed away, shrieking. And of course, alerting what must have been the entire town, because not two minutes later there were people trying to drag Crowley down the street and wailing about witches and serpent's eyes and witches and Satan and black magic and witches, while the demon squirmed and complained loudly: "Hey!- I'm not a- _OW!_ _Stop_ that! Get OFF me- _AZIRAPHALE!_ "

The angel groaned, seeing that he would have to intervene. "For Someone's sake... Hey!"

The townspeople all stopped what they were doing and stared at the angel. "He's a witch!" one of them hollered.

Aziraphale shook his head. "How do you _know_ he's a witch?"

"He looks like one!" a man yelled.

"He's even got a wart!" a woman shrieked.

"I have _not_ got a-"

"He turned me into a newt!"

Everyone turned to look at the Man-Who-Was-Clearly-Not-A-Newt. Aziraphale tilted his head to one side. " _A newt?_ "

The Man-Who-Was-Clearly-Not-A-Newt frowned. "Well...I got better."

Crowley took this opportunity to yank his arm out of a villager's grasp, grab Aziraphale and get them _out of there_. He landed them somewhere in the middle of a field (a.k.a. The middle of nowhere, Europe), slumped down onto the ground and pulled out a pair of dark glasses he'd just invented. The demon shoved them onto his face, muttering angrily.

"I think I like it better here, angel."

"What, in the middle of a field?"

"Yeah. Field."

"But we can't just stay-"

"Sure we can. Please shut up."

"Cro-"

" _Angel_."

"You're being-"

"Shh. I like this field. This field is beautiful."


End file.
